


At The End of You and Me

by parallellines



Category: Shinhwa
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Emotional Baggage, Falling In Love, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Up, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parallellines/pseuds/parallellines
Summary: What they had was never supposed to be love, but somewhere along the line Dongwan had lost his way.But as they say, when you’re looking for something you lost, the best way is to go back to where you first started.





	At The End of You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> I originally planned for this to be lighthearted, sexy, and fun, but it morphed into this disaster of an emo-fest. oTL 
> 
> Please enjoy it anyway.

 

There had been nothing special about the weekend Dongwan broke up with Junjin. 

Junjin had come directly from his late-night show in the next city, as he always did, driving for two hours then crashing in Dongwan’s bed after a hot shower, just before dawn. Dongwan had let him sleep until his bedroom floor was warm from the late spring sun, then they’d fucked and had breakfast—or lunch, Dongwan couldn’t remember—then fucked again. Later, Junjin let Dongwan sketch him as he sat smoking on the verandah at the back of his house overlooking the sea. 

The second day, Junjin had wanted to visit the limestone bluffs that Dongwan had brought him to once, when this thing they had was still new. So they went, and Junjin had led the way, picking a path through the rocky trail like he had climbed it a hundred times. 

When it was time to say goodbye, Dongwan knew what he was going to say. _This isn’t working out. I think we should take a break._ He had memorized the shape of the words on his mouth. _A break_ , Junjin would say. _Got it. Don’t call you, you’ll call me_ , except both of them would know there would be no call. 

He’d watched for the last time as Junjin dressed himself, pulling his crumpled white t-shirt over his head, its hem grazing his tailbone as he bent to pull up his underwear, followed by his battered blue jeans, the ones Dongwan had spilled India ink on once. 

_I guess this is it, then_ , Junjin had said. 

Dongwan remembered nodding, unable to turn away, standing stiffly in the doorway as Junjin traced the outline of his cheek with his fingertips. _Thanks for everything, and see you around_. 

Then he was gone, never once looking back, and Dongwan had stood and watched, until he could no longer see the sunset twinkling off Junjin’s rear view mirrors. 

 

//

 

Once, Dongwan forgot to turn off the radio. 

Or maybe Junjin’s show had been moved to a new time slot, and he hadn’t heard yet, until Junjin’s voice floated up from his speakers and flooded the room. 

Dongwan shut it off immediately, but for the rest of the morning he was irritable and unable to paint. Having no luck with his writing either, he abandoned the house and headed for the beach, surfboard under his arm. 

He paddled out and let being in the water work its magic, shooting curls and tiring himself out on the gently-sloped beach breaks for a couple of hours. Sitting beyond the breakers waiting for the next wave, Dongwan wondered how tiny he must have looked from his house atop the hill. The sea swelled beneath him, pushing his board up against his thighs; after wiping out on a particularly tricky 10-footer, he called it a day and dragged his board and his aching self up the hill back home. 

That night, he dreamt the sea was rocking him to sleep in his bed, except the sea was Junjin and it was his waves that carried him to shore.

 

//

 

When Minwoo had come to him for help, Dongwan hadn’t minded at all, until he heard what it would involve. 

Festivals weren’t his thing, he insisted. The noise, the crowd, and the frantic energy that people like Minwoo thrived on made Dongwan want to make a run for the beach, except the festival _was_ at the beach so home or the hills would have to do. 

“But how about last year,” Minwoo pressed. 

“Last year was different. There was surfing.” 

“Please. At least think about it before you say no.” 

That was something Dongwan could manage, so that night, instead of going home, he drove out to the limestone bluffs, like he had done after last year’s festival. 

A year ago, he had just given his car—a 1983 Porsche 944 that was almost as old as he was—a spanking new paint job and sound system. His bank account was in desperate need of a boost, so he had come out here to think of articles to pitch to his editors. Instead, all he could think of that day under the blazing afternoon sun was sex. Of Junjin’s hair, still wet from the shower, and of how Junjin’s body had moved under his. 

Summer festivals always drew a rowdy crowd, but the surf competition had left Dongwan buzzed enough to stop by the bar for a beer. Junjin had slid into the stool next to his and congratulated him, and Dongwan recognized him right away. Even though he’d dropped the stage voice he’d used to emcee the prize-giving ceremony, there was no way Dongwan would have forgotten his dark, pretty eyes. 

_If you’re looking for good love, you won’t find it here_ , Dongwan had told him. 

Junjin had thrown his head back and laughed, and Dongwan had been too distracted by Junjin’s shoulder pressing against his to be offended. _Then it’s a good thing I’m only looking for a good time._  

Dongwan had allowed Junjin to lead him to his room, promising himself he would leave before dawn, but in the morning, Junjin had stopped him from going with a tug on the wrist and taken his heart to pieces as he took him gently from behind, whispering into his shoulder until Dongwan came with a cry on the 1800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. They took turns in the shower, and when Dongwan was done he found himself alone. On the glass coffee table was the hotel keycard, along with a note. 

_Work calls, gotta run._ _Thanks for last night_ _– J_  

It was only when his expensive car stereo came on, broadcasting Junjin’s voice over county radio, that Dongwan had realized who he’d slept with. 

A year was a long time. It was time to put his ghosts to rest. 

 

// 

 

Dongwan arrived early, even though technically, he didn’t even need to be here. 

But it was opening night, and it was the least he could do, even if it was for just an hour. And even if it was the only way to get his ridiculously persistent friend off his back. 

_It’s for a good cause,_ he’d begged Dongwan. _You’re running out of space to put your paintings, anyway._  

In return, he made Minwoo obtain multiple assurances (in writing) that all proceeds would go to the festival’s adopted charity—the local service dog association—and that he beyond donating his art, he wouldn't have to do anything, not even show up, unless he wanted to. And Minwoo had happily obliged, though it hadn’t stopped him from pressing a pair of VIP passes into Dongwan’s hand. _Just in case,_ he’d grinned. 

“Hey, you,” said a cheerful voice behind Dongwan. “Came alone?” 

“I would’ve sold the other visitor pass to the scalpers if it wasn’t non-transferable,” replied Dongwan drily. “Starving writer and all, you know.” 

“You’re only starving because you spend everything on your car,” said Minwoo. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Thank god you found me early,” Dongwan said. “Now that you’ve seen me I can leave.” He was only half joking. 

“Stay till the food, at least? There’s a reception in about an hour–after the opening ceremony.” Minwoo glanced at his watch. “Anyway, we’re starting soon. I gotta go. Catch you later.” 

The air-conditioned tent was beginning to fill out with people, and Dongwan let himself be pushed to the edge of the crowd. Flipping through the program and artist biographies was a pleasant distraction, and he didn’t pay much attention even when the lights dimmed to signal the start of the evening. 

That is, until the emcee spoke. 

 

//

  

Dongwan felt like he was walking off the edge of a very tall cliff with his eyes wide open, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

_Go home,_ he screamed to himself, as across the tent, Minwoo sidled up to Junjin and pulled him away from the small group of party-goers who had hogged him for the last ten minutes, steering him in the direction of the food and pausing en route as Junjin bent his head to let a passing member of the crew whisper a message in his ear. 

Dumping his half-eaten food into the nearest trashcan, Dongwan made for the exit, the chattering of the crowd ringing in his ears as he pushed his way through, not stopping until he reached the parking lot. He leaned against his car and closed his eyes, and wished his chest would let go and let him breathe again. 

A lighter clicked lazily behind him, and the smell of burning Marlboros on the evening breeze tickled his nose. 

“You’re not supposed to smoke here,” Dongwan said, without turning around. Like that had ever stopped Junjin. “How did you know? That I was here.” 

“Your car,” Junjin said. “I saw it on my way in.” 

_Leave. Now. Please,_ Dongwan begged. _I don’t think I can do this again._  

He heard Junjin take a few steps in his direction. “I have to go,” Dongwan said, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. 

“Wait.” Junjin cleared his throat. “I have to head back in. I’m still on the clock, but I’ll be done by nine.” 

“I came here for work, Jinnie, not to hook up.” 

“So did I,” replied Junjin, sounding mildly hurt. He stubbed the remains of his cigarette out and tried again. “Please. Meet me at nine. One last time.” 

It was a promise Dongwan wasn’t sure he could keep, so he said nothing. 

“At the same bar,” Junjin said. “I’ll be waiting.” 

 

// 

 

Five miles into the drive home, Dongwan pulled over on the road shoulder and rested his head on the steering wheel. 

There was still enough time to make it back to the bar by nine. 

He could go back. Listen to what Junjin had to say. Perhaps apologize, if he could pull himself together before the night was over. After all, he had been the one who let what was supposed to be a one-time thing drag on. 

 

 

It had started out as a lighthearted joke. 

_~ Dear DJ, I met someone at last week’s surf festival, and haven’t been able to think of anything else since. I didn’t even get his number. Please play me a sad love song. From, a surfer in paradise ~_  

Dongwan had expected his request to get lost among the dozens the station received every night. 

But Junjin had read it over the airwaves in the same honeyed voice he’d used on Dongwan a week earlier, and the opening bars of the song they had fucked to began to play. Dongwan wondered. Did he know? He had to find out. 

_~ Dear DJ, you really know how to pick a song. It hit me right in the feels. I wonder if I’ll ever meet him again_ _someday. Play me something hopeful? From, a surfer in paradise ~_  

They had proceeded to flirt back and forth over county radio, and Dongwan had wondered whether they were the first to invent broadcast sexting. 

_~ Dear DJ, I’m feeling pretty blue. I keep thinking of him and it’s driving me crazy. Please play a sexy song for me. From, a surfer in paradise ~_  

_Let me give you a hand,_ Junjin had said, Dongwan had wound up naked on his bed, wanking to whatever song it was that Junjin had decided to play for him and imagining it was Junjin’s broad palms that were wrapped around his hard cock. 

After two weeks of this, Dongwan resolved that it had to stop, before Junjin got kicked off the air for violating broadcast rules; before he started believing that they could carry on. 

_~ Dear DJ, I’ve made up my mind. I think I’m finally getting over him. I guess we lose things for a reason,_ _and it’s time to let go. You’ve been a great help. From, a surfer in paradise ~_  

_In case you ever change your mind,_ Junjin had said, _you know what they say: when you’re looking for something you lost, the best way is to go back to where you first started._  

Dongwan had gone to the bar the following night and found Junjin waiting for him like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Later, back at his place, Dongwan had watched Junjin sleeping and thought: _this would be nice if it were love_. 

But it wasn’t supposed to be, so he had taken out his drawing pad and sketched until he, too, fell asleep, with Junjin curled softly around him. 

 

  

Dongwan pulled himself up straight and looked at his watch. 

He could go back. There was still time. 

 

// 

 

In a tiny bistro across the road, Dongwan waited for Junjin and pretended to read back copies of SURFER, his forgotten beer glass gathering condensation in the evening air. He'd left his car half a mile up just to be safe. 

At five to nine, Junjin arrived. He picked a round table near a window and sat after ordering a drink, staring out into thin air with a distant look on his face. Dongwan had never seen him in anything more formal than jeans. The shirt and jacket made him seem older, as did his upswept hair—older and somehow more intense, and Dongwan was slightly afraid of the things it made him feel. 

Over the span of half an hour, at least four people tried to pick Junjin up, and each time they failed, a wave of relief mixed with disappointment washed over Dongwan. 

In the distance, Junjin sucked on his cigarette, its tip glowing brightly then dimming again as he exhaled and flicked the burnt ashes off. 

_How many times do I have to get over you_ , Dongwan thought, as he paid at the cashier. 

_I guess there’s only one way to find out._  

 

// 

 

“Hello,” Dongwan said, and sat down opposite Junjin. 

He thanked the waiter who brought his whiskey, and folded his shirt sleeves up one at a time. 

Junjin watched him in silence, his left elbow on the table, propping up his chin. His eyes were slightly red, Dongwan noticed, as he felt them travel across his face. 

“You still look good,” Junjin said. 

“Did you really think I’d stop?” 

Junjin smiled. “No.” 

Dongwan shifted on his stool. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he said. 

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“I’m doing alright.” That was about right. _Alright_ , meaning, he got by on thinking of Junjin only every other day instead of every day. 

“Yeah? I’m glad,” Junjin said. 

“And you? How have you been?” Dongwan regretted his question right away—really, he had no right to ask, not after cutting Junjin loose like that. 

Junjin stared at him for several seconds then pursed his lips. “Okay, more or less.” 

_Less is what I’m guessing_. 

“I’m sorry,” Dongwan began, but Junjin held up a hand to stop him. 

“Don’t,” Junjin said, with a crooked smile. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. “Here. You can have this back.” 

Dongwan took the paper from Junjin and unfolded it. It was a drawing—one of his; the portrait he’d sketched of Junjin the day before they broke up. 

“I shouldn’t have taken it. But I figured you wouldn’t miss it, since you were tired of me anyway.” Junjin sighed. “Turns out keeping a piece of you with me only made things worse.” 

Dongwan fingered the edges of the paper. “Junjin,” he said. “Are you driving back tonight?” 

Junjin’s eyes shot up, and he gave Dongwan a long hard look. “Stop,” he snapped. “Whatever it is you’re doing, just stop.” 

“I meant—you just seem really tired.” 

“What’s it to you? It’s none of your business anymore.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just—” 

Junjin banged the table. “You confuse me,” he snarled. “I never asked you to pretend to love me.” 

“Jinnie,” Dongwan said, helpless. _I tried, Jinnie—for six months, I tried not to love you._  

“I am tired,” Junjin said, unclenching his fists. “I’m tired of missing you.” He gathered up his wallet and phone and rose to leave. 

Dongwan hurriedly dug out a few bills from his pocket and left them on the table, calling out at the back of Junjin's head. “Where are you going?” 

Junjin ignored him, and strode in the direction of the hotel lobby. 

“Please,” Dongwan said, as he tried to keep up. The elevator doors opened; Junjin didn’t try to stop him, so Dongwan followed him in. Junjin turned his back and they stood in stony silence, until three floors later, the doors dinged open. 

“There’s nothing you can do,” Junjin said, stepping out of the elevator without looking back. “Go home.” 

“Jinnie, please,” said Dongwan, trailing after Junjin. “Wait—” 

Junjin whirled around. “Wait? What for? For you to say sorry? To tell me we couldn’t be?”  

“I—” Before Dongwan could say more, Junjin had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the corridor wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him. His hands flew to his neck and grabbed at Junjin’s wrists. 

“I don’t care,” sneered Junjin, his mouth twisted with fury. He yanked Dongwan towards him, bringing their faces within an inch of each other. “It won’t change anything.” He was seething, his eyes full of rage, raw with regret and pain. 

Dongwan closed his eyes and turned his left cheek. “Hit me,” he said. _Hurt me._ Dongwan could feel Junjin trembling with anger—his short, sharp breaths on his face—and he braced himself for the impact. 

None came. Dongwan opened his eyes.

Junjin muttered a frustrated curse and let him go. “I hate you,” he hissed quietly, his arms falling to his sides. 

Dongwan loosened his grip on Junjin’s wrists and slid his hands slowly over Junjin’s, and took Junjin's fingers lightly between his. “Hate me, then,” he murmured, rubbing his thumbs over Junjin's knuckles in careful circles. 

Dongwan felt Junjin draw near, hesitatingly, stopping himself before he could bury his nose in Dongwan's hair and kiss his temple the way he used to. Instead, he hung his head with a sigh, his forehead hovering a few inches above Dongwan’s shoulder. 

“I tried,” Junjin said, in the quiet of the corridor. His voice was tired; broken. 

Dongwan stroked Junjin’s cheek. “You can stop now.” 

Junjin muffled a cry and placed his hands lightly on Dongwan's waist. “I thought you hated me,” he whispered. 

“Me, too.” Dongwan slid his hand round the back of Junjin’s neck. 

Junjin buried his face in Dongwan’s shoulder and squeezed him tight. "I thought of you," he mumbled, "every damn day." 

“Jinnie,” breathed Dongwan, turning his head so his lips brushed Junjin's ear as he spoke. “I—” Dongwan's voice caught in his throat, and Junjin pulled back to look at him with concern in his eyes. Dongwan brought his hand to Junjin’s chin and gently pulled him back in. Closing his eyes, Dongwan felt Junjin lean into him and press his lips to his in a brief but lingering touch that flooded him with memories of them, together, then over, all too soon. 

“God, I missed you so much,” Dongwan said, and kissed Junjin, back, hard, parting his lips to make way for his tongue and grabbing at his collar when it seemed he was about to stop. Then Junjin’s hands were on his back, and in his hair, everywhere, digging through his pockets for the keycard as they pressed up against the door of his room, holding him up as they stumbled and clung to each other in the dark. 

“Shower,” murmured Junjin, as Dongwan undid his shirt buttons for him with a rough urgency. 

Dongwan slid his hands up Junjin’s chest and pushed Junjin’s jacket off his shoulders. “No,” he said, cupping and nuzzling Junjin’s face as he allowed himself to be stripped. 

“Okay.” Junjin stepped back briefly to shed the rest of his clothes, then drew close again to kiss Dongwan on the lips. 

“Jinnie,” Dongwan whispered, grabbing Junjin’s neck as Junjin pressed himself between his thighs and lifted him onto the bed. “I think I love you,” he gasped, as Junjin reached between them to touch him. 

And then it was Junjin kissing him, tasting him, tracing burning lines on his skin and making him shudder with want, and drawing him closer and deeper until there was nothing left between them at all. 

 

// 

 

Dongwan woke at seven as he knew he would. Blackout curtains made no difference, and it was safe to say that they didn’t work on Junjin either, since he could and would sleep through an entire morning if given the chance, sunlight be damned, but Dongwan left them as they were so as not to wake him, and settled on the couch with his phone and the morning papers. 

At eleven-thirty, Junjin bolted upright in bed, his eyes widening with confusion when he saw the empty space next to him. 

“Morning,” Dongwan said from across the room. “Barely.” 

Junjin flopped onto his back. “I thought you’d left.” 

Dongwan walked over holding an apple from the fruit bowl. “Hungry?” 

“You call that breakfast?” Junjin raised an eyebrow, but accepted it anyway. 

“Lunch, you mean,” corrected Dongwan. “In forty-five minutes, to be exact. I made a reservation at the place down the street. The one we used to go to,” he said, as Junjin bit into the apple with a crunch. 

“Used to,” echoed Junjin, uncertainly. 

“Get dressed.” Dongwan sat down by Junjin's side. “Or should I say, undressed,” he said, sliding a hand inside Junjin’s bathrobe and pushing it off his shoulder. 

“Really? Right in front of my salad?” Junjin waved his apple in the air. 

Dongwan smiled. “You wish,” he said, and wiped some juice from the corner of Junjin’s mouth. “Come on, before they kick us out. There’s plenty of time for that later.” 

“Later?” 

“Yes, later.” Dongwan took Junjin by the hand and pulled him up off the bed. “Today. Tomorrow. Whenever.” He paused and tilted his head. “You and me. Us. Together—if you would like to be,” he said, looking up at Junjin as he finished. 

Junjin bent and touched his forehead to Dongwan's. “That," he said, squeezing Dongwan's fingers lightly, "sounds perfect to me.”

 

 

 


End file.
